Corruption
by bmw.remixed
Summary: Love, like all things pure, is so frightfully easy to corrupt. [Espers]


**A/N:** I wrote this **YEARS** ago!

* * *

 _Love, like all things pure, is so frightfully easy to corrupt._

* * *

He was born of the sea, from its churning depth that held its secrets protectively, so far from the chambers of the Gods. From his creation, he patrolled the deepest abysses of the oceans, slicing through the murk with powerful limbs. Around him, the sea gave up her secrets. She whispered of life, from the smallest minnows to the largest wyrms, and let him listen as their hearts beat in unison. She sang about the land that rose from her womb, and laughed as she told of how she was slowly drawing it back into her embrace, one grain of sand at a time. What he remembered though, was her sighs as she spoke of the sun in all its resplendence, shining upon the waters, and how it transformed her barren waters into crystalline plains.

She spoke of the warmth, and the _light_.

He was a child of the abyss, a scion of darkness, marked by birth to crave the light.

The sea's murmurs were a catalyst, igniting his curiosity. He left the shelter of the darkness, and climbed towards the surface, to warmth he could not yet feel and wasn't sure existed at all.

The ink that surrounded him dissipated, and the first rays of light seared through, assaulting his primitive eyes. Crying out in pain, he closed his eyes and swam on, feeling the sea loosen its icy embrace around him, and the faintest tendrils of warmth wrapping themselves around him. In his ear, the sea whispered her encouragement.

He broke through. Air – such a strange substance! He floundered clumsily on the surface, still screwing his eyes shut against the light, fingers and fins and tentacles slipping through the air. He didn't like air, he decided. He couldn't grasp it in his large scaled fingers and manipulate its flow, its voice was a chaotic roar in his mind, and its currents chafed his skin, stealing the last of the ocean's embrace.

Unable to comprehend his helplessness, he roared in frustration, the storm in his spirit raging. The Mist, so much thicker and so much angrier, brewed around him, matching him in fury.

 _Ah, Young One, it appears you have finally decided to reveal yourself._

Through the tempest a voice breathed. The Mist parted, and his fury gave way to surprise. A cool hand touched his own shoulder, and he bristled, expecting the worse. But instead the voice only laughed.

 _I have come to bring you home._

He opened his eyes, and to his surprise, the light didn't burn. A vision swathed in jewels and snow flurries shimmered before him, reaching out a pale, blue hand invitingly. He could sense the power in that thin limb, sharpened blades behind padded silk.

The Mist danced around her, a kaleidoscope of raw energy. For a moment, her form blurred and he caught a glimpse of a phantom shadow with ageless eyes. But as quickly as he had noticed it, it disappeared, and all he could see was the Goddess in front of him.

 _Do not be frightened, I will not hurt you._

Out of sight, out of mind.

Gingerly, or as gingerly as he could with his hulking size, he placed a claw in her hand.

 _Let us go._

Higher and higher they went, until they were floating among the clouds.

 _Where is This One being taken?_

He proposed the question tentatively.

 _Giruvegan,_ she sang, _where the Mist dances in gemsteel hues and Ivalice is spread like feast before a King._

 _Giruvegan?_

He tested the word, letting the syllables roll off his lips, and decided he liked the sound of it.

They touched down on a gilded platform, floating above the clouds. He felt large and hulking, his scales and spines clashing horribly with the translucent elegance of Giruvegan. The Mist flickered a silent song, so different from the raging typhoons he was accustomed too.

He hesitated.

It was _bright._

She set one thin hand on his awkward form. And with her silent encouragement, he straightened, lifting his scales off floor and looked into the sun.

 _Oh, how bright._

 _Shiva._

The voices filtered into his dreams, full of echoes and resonance, jarring him awake. He had lost all sense of time since he'd arrived, unsure if he'd been there days or centuries. His waking moments were filled with a blurry complacency. The ever-present sun greeted him, and he blinked in confusion. The Goddess was standing, back turned to him, the Mist skittered agitatedly around her. Beyond her, ghostly figures floated, like fuzzy translucent clay dolls, with their empty golden eyes fixated on her.

The Occuria, he remembered, Gods of Ivalice and Bretheren to his own Goddess.

They did not look pleased.

 _What is the meaning of this?_

 _The newest Scion._

The eyes of the Gods turned towards, inspecting him, taking in every scale and fin.

He suddenly felt frightened.

 _Why have you brought him here?_

 _I have grown so tedious these days._

 _He cannot stay here, this child of the abyss._

 _Do you condemn me to a life of boredom, Brother Gerun?_

 _You condemn yourself to this life. Shed the mortal shell, Shiva, and these worries will trouble you no more._

He did not like these Occuria, they upset his Goddess. She had grown unhappy at their words, delicate features contorting into an defensive scowl. A sharp chill permeated the air, and the ever present sea water on his skin began to crystallize.

 _If only that was my wish. The water-child stays with me._

 _The Sun-stone's Light spoils it. Already it grows placid and lazy within its embrace. It cannot reach his full potential here in Giruvegan._

He followed the exchange warily, eyes darting back and forth between the two parties.

She glared for a few moments longer, before asking, _If not in Giruvegan, then where?_

 _That will be determined._

 _Then no._

 _Shiva, you try my patience._

From where he lay, he saw one of the ghostly figures reach out towards his Goddess. Without thinking, he sprung and coiled himself around her, shielding her within his own body. The sea roared into a storm far beneath the platform, and he could feel the air crackle into a storm around them. He glared at them defiantly, red eyes burning into gold.

To his surprise, the figure merely chuckled.

 _It seems you have found quite the loyal guard dog, Sister. If he wishes to guard, let him guard something that requires protection._

 _What is your intent?_

The figured pivoted towards him, moving so close he could make out the intricate patterning under the sheath of Mist and Essence. If he didn't know better, he could've sworn those patterns had formed themselves into a cruel sneer.

 _The dead have grown restless recently. The Underworld suits him – created in an abyss, of the abyss, and will grow within the abyss._

She sighed in defeat.

 _If that is your wish._

She turned to look at him, pity in her eyes.

 _I will come for you._

Her fingers glazed his face for a mere second before she stepped back and disappeared. Around him, the ghostly figures crowded closer.

 _So it has beeen said, so it shall be done._

Cracks appeared in the glass beneath his feet.

 _So it shall be done._

The glass shattered, sending him plunging to the darkness below. He looked up and saw the hole in the platform swiftly knit itself back together, the light and warmth dimming slowly, until all he knew again was the cold and the dark.

* * *

It was cold.

Colder than usual.

He brushed through the austere halls, layout memorized from his frantic search for an escape during the first few days. It was dark, it was empty save for the dead, and the dead flitted around him relentlessly. They begged, they screamed, they sensed the remnants of sunstone's touch on him. As if he could bring them the salvation they sought where he could not even save himself.

As he neared the throne room, the temperature dropped even more. Even the Mist quieted, chilled into submission.

A light dusting of frost on the granite alerted him to her presence, the first variance in this drab landscape.

She was lying there on granite throne where he watched the dead from, robes strewn aside, bare as the day her mortal body was born.

 _Little One… my lovely… Show Me your love._

How could he deny her?

He approached her, half slithering, half crawling, and all too eager to please, and reached out hesitantly to draw a claw down her lean form. She shuddered under his touch, and pressed herself closer, wrapped her lean limbs like snares around him. Having no choice, he surrounded her lithe body with his bulk as she worked herself into throes of ecstasy.

The Mist burned to bursting.

Afterwards, as she lay panting and flushed, he looked on, happy that he was able to please his Goddess.

 _I do love this form, hume females have such wonderful evolutionary features,_ she mused breathily. _But I have never had a chance to fully explore them._

She looked at his dreamily, and touched his face.

 _It has been so long, she_ whispers and touches the chains that bind him to the underworld. _Did you miss me?_

Her hand slid from his face, down his shoulder, gently scratching at the scales which peppered them, to his hands. She placed one on her chest, and one between her legs, gasping at the sensation.

 _Such a shame,_ she gasped, _they should not have sent you away._

 _Why did you let them?_

 _You should not have threatened them._

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as his clumsy administrations brushed against a cluster of sensitive nerves. Her back arched, the tension in her body rising. He realized she never answered his question.

 _A…name,_ she groaned, hips undulating upon his knuckles, coating them in a slick nectar. _You…_

The remainder of her sentence degenerated into soundless screams as she squealed her release again, thrashing weakly against the torrent of sensations.

As the sensations passed, she glanced at him through cloudy eyes.

 _You shall be called Mateus… the gift – one fitting for a Goddess._

He drew his hands from her and leaned over her, brushing her soft lips with his fingers, still covered in her nectar.

 _This one then hopes that his Goddess is pleased with her Gift._

His words echoed back at him, empty of meaning.

* * *

He did not understand the concept of time. There was never any indication of its passage that he could relate to, except perhaps for the dimming of his memory. He could almost feel the sun on his scales, the warmth permeating his bones, her voice, her promise. But with every moment he spent in the underworld, with each soul marched passed by his throne, each scream wrenched from the ephemeral throats of the wretched, he felt the past slip away a little and her voice fade a little.

How long has it-

 _You are Winter's lover._

He broke from his reverie to find his youngest sister gliding slowly towards him. Her head was held high, and light emanated from her very being. The tips of her feet, dressed in gilded slippers, floated inches above the floor. Her wings twitched as she moved, shedding gold dust all over his floor.

 _I am Mateus, Ruler and Guardian of the Underworld._

She looked around disdainfully at his surroundings, finding no satisfaction in the murky darkness where he dwelt. She raised one delicate green tinted arm, shimmering with gold and held a light in front of her face, trying to see him better.

 _Such paltry surroundings do not suit you, dearest brother._

He raised one crafted brow at this statement.

 _Your condescension is not needed, Ultima._

 _It is not condescension, merely concern._

He toyed with a smirk, tapping his claws on his makeshift throne in amusement.

 _And why, pray tell, does the Favorite One concern herself over the lesser siblings' unsavory conditions?_

A look of anger flashed over her polished jade features, almost escaping his notice. She ignored his question.

 _How long has it been since She's called for you?_

 _She will come for me._

 _You are a dense fool._

He tapped his claws, growing impatient.

 _What is your agenda here?_

 _I offer you a chance to go to her instead of waiting here like an abandoned dog in the rain._

 _She has already promised to come for me._

 _She was the one who condemned you here._

 _My rife is with Gerun, his decision condemned me to this fate._

 _The Occuria match each other in strength and will. If she wished to, Shiva could have prevented this._

He fell silent.

Ultima continued with her tirade. _She has forgotten._

 _Impossible. The Occuria do not Forget._

 _But they do tire._

He sighed, and pushed an errant soul's complaints to the corners of his mind.

 _I do not follow your train of thought, Sister._

 _You do not hear of the news, imprisoned in this realm of death and darkness. Shiva has a new pet._

 _And who, may I ask, is this new pet?_

 _A new Scion, the Abyssal Celebrant, Lahabrea._

 _I see. And what is this Lahabrea like?_

He made no attempt to keep the laughter out of his voice.

 _A daughter of the light christened by the darkness. The Seventh Hell, she is called. The light of Giruvegan does not lull her into a walking slumber. She -_

 _Sister, your attempts of deception will have to more plausible._

Her brows furrowed.

 _You do not believe me? It is true. You have been replaced._

 _Sister, I grow tired of this charade, you-_

 _It is true. You have been replaced. You have all been replaced._ I _have been replaced!_

He turned and looked at her at this admission. She glared at a point in the ground, delicate features contorted so far it seemed her face would crack, emerald lips curling into a furious snarl baring sharpened teeth below. He realized, with reluctance that she had been speaking the truth.

 _A mere child. A manufacted God. A Scion in a farce._ Ultima raised her head defiantly, piercing him with his gaze. Her wings twitched more fervently, whipping the Mist into a frenzy. _They fear him, and so grant him eternal youth. If he is to reach maturity, his word will become Absolute Truth. Zodiark is the new Scion of Giruvegan. He must be destroyed. Him and the Occuria. They must learn the price of casting us aside like rag dolls._

 _They will suffer._

He mused his next statement, slowly digesting all of the new information he had learned. _So this is what it is all about, Sister._

 _I speak the truth. Will you help me?_

 _I shall think about it._

* * *

There was frost leading to the throne hall again. He almost allowed himself to waste effort trying to remember the last time this sight had greeted him.

 _You are a fool to listen to Ultima._

Again she laid sprawled there on the huge foreboding chair, too large for him, and absolutely dwarfing her in its embrace. There was no welcome in her gaze.

 _So I have heard._

 _You dare to jest? You_ are _a fool._

 _I would at least be a happy fool if you were to stay with me._

He looked at her almost pleadingly, trying to meet her eyes, hating himself for his weakness, hating himself for being so mortal. She turned away and stated slowly, as if speaking to a simple child.

 _Ultima seeks to destroy the natural balance of our Universe. There are places and purposes for all creatues in Ivalice. The mortals serve the Espers and the Espers serve the Occuriae._

 _I dislike it when you speak like that._

She glanced at him, and laughed cruelly, a chilling noise that cut to his core.

 _You are so naïve, my little Mateus. Do you forget that I_ am _Occuria?_

He remained silent, shaking his head, trying to return to the comfort of his denial.

 _How can I forget? The Occuria are the ones who removed me from the light._

 _Is your lust for the light so powerful that it consumes you now, destroying your common sense? Is that why you find Ultima so enticing?_

 _She speaks of redemption and acceptance. Ultima only voices what the rest of us Scions fear to say._

 _Ultima, Ultima, Ultima. The mere mention of her disgusts me. She is an imperfection, an errant soul, so similar to the Gods she forgets she is not one._

She leaned closer and crooned into his ear. _Unlike you, my little Mateus, you were perfect, wonderful. Your duty is a blessing, only one such as you could befit the title of Guardian of the Underworld._

 _Is that all I am?_

 _Is that all you wish to be?_

He ignored her jibe.

 _"Guardian", you claim, beloved by all. But I see only a Guard Dog, begging for scraps at the table._

She snarled in contempt at his answer and the Mist crackled in the chamber.

 _Insolent cur! How dare you disrespect your privilege? You hold no knowledge of the scores of creatures all across Ivalice who would die threefold for your existence._

 _They can have it._

 _So that is how you wish to go._

The Mist suddenly became hostile to him and he looked up.

His Goddess disappeared and in her place was the same towering phantom he had seen all those eons ago. Even now, after so many centuries, the presence of an Undying one petrified him.

 _Do you love Ultima more than me?_

It spoke in his mind, using a grating distortion of her voice that clattered and rang painfully.

He raised his head and stared at her – _it_ \- with glazed eyes, his boldness frightening him.

 _Do you love Lahabrea more than me?_

* * *

How did he ever expect it to succeed? Their opponents were the Gods themselves, the Undying, the Undefeated, the supreme rulers of all of Ivalice. One by one, they fell, raging as the sky suddenly gave way under them and they were suddenly bound to the gold and quartz platform by unseen chains.

He counted them in his head. Twelve. Adrammelech flapped his leathery wings in vain and mourned the loss of his freedom. Zeromus snapped his claws in frustrations, the noise reverberating painfully across the glinting surface. Chaos, Cuchulainn, Zalera and his Shamaness – every single one of them. Even Ultima stood there stiffly, gaze never wavering from where Zodiark hovered on the brink of eternal slumber.

The Mist around them was going crazy, so much power concentrated in one area – and yet, it had not been enough.

Behind them all, he stood there quietly, all thoughts in his mind muted.

 _Mateus._

From behind him, the painfully familiar voice sounded. He did not turn around.

 _You will be forgiven, if you only recant._

The words sounded hollow in his mind.

 _Recant?_

 _And everything will revert to its original place._

An eternity alone with nothing but the screams of the forsaken for company. Lost, forgotten and unappreciated by the tomes of history.

 _Including us._ The voice moved closer, a phantom chill creeping down his spine.

There was a time before, eons before, when such a promise would have reduced him to a quiver apologetic heap. He now feels only a wary exhaustion.

 _And the alternative?_ He asks.

 _Scion of Ivalice you shall no longer be. The land will be your prison. Your legacy will rot and the Espers will be forever the scourge of Ivalice._

 _So be it. That is my decision. Cast me to the land of the dying and trouble me no more._

 _You will not see the sun nor the see._

 _This is my decision._

 _There is still time. Do you not love me?_

He turned around finally, to answer as candidly as he could. But instead of seeing her as he remembered, cerulean skin and sapphire hair, the formless entity floated behind him, its shifting shape nauseating him. It only strengthened his resolve.

 _I loved who you pretended to be._

The dulcet tones in her voice disappeared.

 _The mortal doll of Ice? Was it because of her beauty? Shallow fool, if beauty is something you crave, than beauty you shall have. An empty shell, useless, but a polished shell nevertheless._

A dull thump at his feet made him look down. It was _her_ , rather, a lifeless doll of her. He bends down and gingerly picks the form up. It lies cold and slack in his arms.

 _What.. is this?_ He asks, unable to keep the slight waver out of his voice.

 _A simple reminder. Of all that you have given up today. And your salvation. Bring it back to me when you decide to admit your wrongs._

 _You do not understand._

 _I understand one thing, that you will not learn your place until proper punishment is administered._  
The phantom turns and disappears into the thickened Mist, leaving him alone with the noise of the other Espers to contemplate their fate.

In his arms, the doll stares back with unseeing eyes.

 _Fall with me._

But it is only his imagination.

* * *

He goes down never looking back, a voiceless doll strapped to a skeleton of cerulean steel and encrusted iron. With his privilege they also stripped him of his flesh, leaving only a frosted puppet to remind him of his mortality.

In another chamber of stone and iron he waits, guarding a treasure of the Gods yet again. But here the screams of the dead do not reach his ears, and instead he could hear the sea murmuring to him in the distance. His eternal mother, extending her embrace to him from across the mountains and plains. From her primordial ooze he rose, and like the prodigal son he will one day return, to her bleak and welcoming depths, whispering his owns stories.

But for now, he sits and contemplates his freedom and existence and waits for another Goddess to find him. (He has seen her in his dreams, far in the future, with the sun in her flaxen hair and a song in her step, on a mission for the Sword of Kings.)

He had loved and lusted and lost (and yet, gained so, so much.).

He had been King and Lover and Slave (but never God).

And for that he committed the greatest sacrilege of all – to defy the Gods themselves.

But, he does not repent.

* * *

 **From the Game:**  
 _Scion of darkness ruling and protecting those who live in the underworld, in opposition to Lahabrea the Abyssal Celebrant and scion of light. In the course of his rule, he submitted to avarice, and the darkness took his heart, transforming him until he was both evil and corrupt. Then in his cowardice did he bind a Goddess of the Demesne of Ice, and using her as a living shield, he challenged the gods. Defeated before their might, he fell screaming into the depths of hell, there to be imprisoned for eternity._

 **Notes:**  
I used to hate Mateus. But then I felt so bad for it – it always looked so epic if you got its final attack to work. And from the blurb, it just seemed so tragic – so I had to write something. *sigh* This was supposed to be a drabble.

And.. umm. Esper!sex. Do NOT ask me about the logistics. I have absolutely no idea.

I did give Mateus to Penelo. I don't remember why.

Title comes from Revelations 13.

 **Name meanings:**  
I basically wikipediaed and googled variations of Mateus and Lahabrea until something popped up. But that was so long ago that I can't remember what _ Mateus = Gift was definitely from something Arabic though. Lahabrea required much more bastardization to get it to mean Seventh Hell xD

 **Start:** February 26, 2008  
 **Finish:** December 28, 2008  
 **Word Count:** 3,752


End file.
